


Sea Daddy

by Reiki



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiki/pseuds/Reiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whitebeard might have been his Pops, but Marco was his sea daddy. </p><p>Anyone who joins the Whitebeard Pirates, regardless of experience level, are assigned a sea daddy to show them the ropes and the rules of the Moby Dick. Ace gets Marco, who teaches him that a lack of shame is truly freeing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the concept of a 'sea daddy,' an older man who was assigned to a young boy in the navy, typically a cabin boy/powder monkey/etc, to teach them the ropes and act as a support system. Also, played around with Marco's devil fruits yet again, as well as his past before joining Whitebeard. And then I was inspired by Ann Rice's lesser-known stories. Which explains the middle of this nasty little shocker. Originally, this was supposed to be a oneshot deal, but then it got a bit too long, so there will be four parts to this story. It starts off rather innocent, but trust me when I say it does not stay that way.
> 
> Warning: This story is mainly driven by erotica and light BDSM. If you think you may be offended by it, then this story is not for you.

“It’s tradition.”

Ace snorted, a little flame jutting out of his nose. “Hell if I care. I’ve been sailing the oceans for a while, so I know what to do on a goddamn ship! I don’t need a… _sea daddy_.”

Whitebeard let loose a loud guffaw, prompting the laughing of several other commanders that stood off to the side of their captain’s throne of a chair. Ace felt himself grow hot, not embarrassed, just hot. Hot like he wanted to burst into flames and devour all those who dared laugh at him in a raging inferno.

“I don’t care how many years you’ve got on the ocean, brat, this is how we do things on the Moby Dick. New guys get a very specific initiation into the family.” Whitebeard raised a hand, pointing a large finger in the direction of some of his crew. “Since you’re so hot-headed,” another rolling laugh from his crew, “I’ve decided you need someone who’ll be able to keep up with you. So Marco here is going to be your sea daddy from now on. And you’re not going to protest or I’ll toss you in the drink and pull you out only when you’re half-dead.”

“Tough love,” someone muttered with a snicker.

Ace’s lip curled up and he was about to snarl another objection when his eyes caught sight of the man whom Whitebeard had attempted to point out. His supposed _sea daddy_.

Frankly, the guy appeared to be half-asleep and was leaning rather sluggishly against the ship’s gunwale, beside a man with an incredibly meretricious hairdo. He remembered meeting the man with the pompadour hair that morning. He had introduced himself as Thatch. _And_ he had stated that they should be friends.

Thatch waved as they locked eyes, grinning and giving him a thumbs-up. Ace pretended he hadn’t seen a thing, tearing his eyes away from those men in order to address Whitebeard again. “I _don’t_ need a sea daddy.”

Edward Newgate, strongest man in the world, laughed at him once more.

Ace had never felt so inferior in his life.

Angry flames started to drip off of his shoulders and down his bare chest, dropping to the deck of the Moby Dick where they caught the planks of wood. He knew it would be suicidal to fight Whitebeard on his flagship with all of his divisions just a hop and a skip away, but Ace wouldn’t tolerate being so plainly insulted.

Just as he was about to melt into flames and attempt to engage Whitebeard in a fight, a hand clamped down firmly on his shoulder. Startled, partly because he hadn’t heard anyone come up behind him and party because, theoretically, nobody should be able to simply _grab him_ , Ace spun around.

The man with the droopy eyes, Marco, was the culprit. His hand was still gripping his shoulder with an intensity that Ace had never felt before. A cold chill ran through his hot body.

“Hey, don’t burn our beloved ship… _brat_.”

Ace snarled unintelligible words before focussing himself and turning his shoulder to flame. Or, at least it should have turned to flame. He found himself startled once more when Marco’s hand would not budge and he could not slip away in a breath of fire.

Able to guess at his discomfort, Marco said, “It doesn’t matter if you’re a logia type or whatever, I’m not going to magically disappear. Since Pops asked this favour of me, I’ll be your sea daddy from now on. So you might as well accept it.”

Unnervingly, Ace couldn’t get his shoulder free, no matter which way he jerked his body. Marco was strong, he’d give him that much. He heard people snickering at his expense in the background, but he knew he couldn’t flare up and silence them. Finally, Ace begrudgingly snapped, “ _Fine_. But I refuse to be treated like a child.”

Marco let go of him and walked away, back towards Thatch whose brow was furrowed with concern. Ace stormed off, unable to take anymore mocking today. He headed below deck, trying to find the room he had awoken in earlier. He needed to start his plotting and scheming. He was not going to stay on this damned ship any longer than necessary.

These people were his enemies, not his friends.

\--oOo--

The first attempt hadn’t gone as planned. Nor had the second attempt. The third attempt left him in the ocean, flailing for sweet, sweet air, and the fourth attempt had him hung by his shorts at the top of the mizzenmast. Hanging from the _flagpole_.

He was, currently, trying to recover from his fourth attempt at taking Whitebeard’s head when Marco showed up. The man leapt agilely from the yardarms, swung up the rigging, and climbed into the crow’s nest just beneath Ace.

“Need any help?” Marco called. There was an inkling of amusement in his tone. He was within reach of Ace’s legs and made it known he would easily be able to untangle the other from the flagpole, if only Ace asked.

“No!” Ace cried roughly, struggling to unseat himself lest his baggy, black shorts rip. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to call his Devil Fruit powers forth, but found he could not.

Marco smiled wryly, knowing the frustration of being temporarily unable to call upon one’s Devil Fruit abilities. “He stuck you up here with a twisted form of Haki. The Moby Dick is easily influenced by the old man’s will. Trust me, it’ll wear off in a few minutes, but by that time I think your shorts will be finished.”

Ace tried to ignore Marco, he really did, but when his flailing caused a huge tear in his shorts, he suddenly found himself falling past the crow’s nest and trying to grab for Marco. Instinctively, of course.

He missed Marco’s outstretched hand and plummeted towards the deck, narrowly missing a furled bunch of canvas that he could have grabbed a hold of to save himself. For some reason, his fire was not being responsive, though it might have been because fear was gripping his chest. Either way, he was falling and feeling entirely too mortal.

He closed his eyes just as a sharp pain shot through his shoulders. He was jarred upwards, the pain intensifying and making him grit his teeth. His eyes flew open and he twisted his head left, trying to see the source of this new pain that had come before his impact with the deck.

Claws. No, talons. And shimmering yellow-blue feet. Bird feet.

“Holy shit!” Ace cried into the wind as a thunderous wing beat deafened his eardrums. He craned his neck back, looking up, but all he could see was a voluminous form made up of what looked to be blue flames. But that made little sense to Ace, who was still focussed on the chicken-like legs protruding from the flaming mass.

Dimly he became aware of being set down on the deck, but his head was still turned up to the clouds he could see poking out from the corners of the ethereal being. He fell on his back, and watched with much trepidation as the blue form convulsed and shrunk in on itself. Finally, he saw the creature – as he had determined it was a creature thanks to the chicken legs – show its face. A pale yellow beak, long sinuous neck, and plumed head. With two rings around its eyes and a rather calm and sleepy look to its face…

He was mortified when the bird continued to shift form, morphing into the shape of a man. And, not just any man, but _him_.

“Y-you!”

“Careful. Do you have any idea how bad it would look for a sea daddy to let their young charge go _splat_ on the deck? Have you ever dropped an egg before? Because when both an egg and a human are dropped from a great height, there tends not to be much of a difference between the two.”

Marco’s face was serious for a moment before his mouth twitched into an amused, lop-sided grin. He continued to peer down at Ace, who sputtered and pointed between what had been a bird and what was the remainder of his shorts hanging from the mizzenmast’s flagpole.

“Guess I saved your life, Firefist. See you in the mess hall?”

Ace growled and shakily got to his feet. Before Marco could blast him with anymore stinging comments that would further wound his pride, he stalked off in the direction of the room he had been occupying for the past couple of days. Back to plotting.

He faintly heard Thatch laughing his ass off somewhere behind him, making it occur to him that he was feeling an awfully chilly draft on his… _oh_ , the ripped shorts. His face burned, and he nearly spun around and breathed fire in Thatch’s general direction. He certainly felt like a wounded dragon that needed to defend its pride.

Then he heard the soft chuckling; a melody underneath Thatch’s rough howling. Somehow, he didn’t feel quite as angry listening to that chuckle as he retreated.

\--oOo--

Fifty murder plots later found Ace standing outside of Whitebeard’s door with a battle-axe he had stolen from one of the gun crewmembers on the starboard side. It was a hefty piece of weaponry, well suited to those gun crew guys who periodically moved cannons around below deck. Ace held it across his shoulders, with one hand free to slowly open Whitebeard’s door.

Suddenly, both of his hands were empty and he heard a faint plopping sound akin to something being tossed into water. With a snarl he realized it _was_ something being thrown into the ocean. He flared, readying his next line of attack, fists clenching tightly.

He spun on Marco and dove a hand straight into his gut, expecting the man who had been assigned to ‘keep an eye on him’ to go flying across the length of the Moby Dick. Instead, much to his horror, his fist sank into Marco’s gut. Literally. Like Marco swallowed his fist, _hell_ , most of his _arm_. With his goddamn _stomach_.

Ace cried out and ripped his hand back into his own chest, watching as blue flames licked at the hole he had created.

“Hey, I thought I told you that Pops needs his rest. He needs _at least_ eight hours of sleep every night in order to sleep off his daily sake intake. It’s not healthy for him otherwise.”

“Y-your chest!”

Marco crooked an eyebrow in the dark, his whole body lit up in a wash of red as Ace continued to spew little flames from his body, obviously frazzled.

“Yeah, yeah. Pretty fucking ugly sight, isn’t it? Holes in my body and all that. I have the power to regenerate myself.”

“Ugly?” Ace squeaked, noticing how Marco’s blue flames had vanished and in their place solid tangible skin had formed over those hard abdominal muscles of his.

“Yeah, _fucking ugly_. That’s what everyone says,” Marco mused quietly.

Ace blinked, then dampened his flames as he knew Marco would soon be throwing him into the ocean to calm down. Marco was _very_ concerned for his ship and hated seeing burn marks on the planks. Ace knew this well, as he had been knocked off his feet many times by sudden gusts of wind from Marco’s wings when he behaved badly.

It had only been a month, but Ace was learning some fundamental lessons. And first and foremost, not burning the ship to a crisp was a big thing on the Moby Dick.

“Hey, come join me for a drink if you’re just going to stay up all night plotting to kill people,” Marco offered. However, Ace felt it was more of a command than an offer. He wished he could say no, but the stern look Marco was giving him suggested that he better agree or he’d find himself sailing through the air.

“Okay.”

Marco led the way to his quarters near the ship’s stern. Ace had never been down this way, as Whitebeard’s quarters consisted of a room that lied above the main deck’s surface. Ace’s own room, the one he had claimed and fiercely protected, his only sanctuary on the ship, was located closer to the bow. Now, walking under the main deck along a corridor lit with many thousands of lamps, Ace tried to take in his surroundings as best as possible. If only to remember an escape route in case things got messy.

“That’s Thatch’s room,” Marco said, pointing out a door that looked like every other door down the hall. “All the commanders automatically get their own quarters. He’s passed out in there, if you’re wondering. Too much booze.”

“Oh,” Ace said shortly, not intending to delve too far into conversation. Though Marco was interesting, he did not want to develop any lasting emotions for him. Not when he was dead set on taking Whitebeard’s head from his shoulders and sticking it on the flagpole.

“The second division commander’s room is empty, and mine is right across…right here,” Marco said, moving towards a door. This door wasn’t the last door on the dead end hallway, but it was certainly right next to it.

“Why’s your room all the way down here?” Ace found himself wondering aloud.

“Since I’m the first division commander and first mate. Notice the door at the end of the hall? It leads out to the ship’s stern, a little balcony. I’m what you might call the first response when we find our ship under attack.”

Ace frowned heavily, hung up on what Marco had just told him. First mate? That was news to him. He had thought one of the half-giants or sterner commanders was Whitebeard’s first mate, not this relatively average man. Then again, it made perfect sense.

_Still, this could prove to be an opportunity_ , Ace thought.

Inside the room was dark, but Marco lit a few candles with a well-aimed match. Ace didn’t bother to tell the man he could have lit them with his finger and spared him the matches, because that would be assisting the enemy. And Ace was all about making things difficult.

“So. Beer, wine, or…something else?”

Ace blinked, then refocused his eyes to take in the huge shelf full of various types of alcohol. It nearly spanned the entire wall. He was too overwhelmed to speak.

“Just grab whatever,” Marco said nonchalantly, reaching over to snatch a bottle of wine from the shelf. He walked over to the table in the middle of the room and collapsed into a chair, deftly uncorking his prize.

Ace grabbed the bottle nearest to him, not intending to drink all that much as that would lay him out flat for the enemy to attack, and joined Marco at his table for two.

Marco poured his wine into a glass to sip from while Ace drank straight from the bottle, indifferent about how he would be perceived. He didn’t know why but he was slightly vexed that he wasn’t annoying Marco by doing this. In fact, Marco wasn’t really paying his bad manners any mind. He was just simply coexisting like a mosquito on the wall.

Ace figured if he wanted to sucker any information out of the man, he’d better do so now before Marco got completely drunk and, likely, incomprehensible. He decided he’d start off slow, break down the man’s guard. Though, Ace had to admit, Marco didn’t really seem to have any guard at all…

“How long do you usually stay awake drinking?” Ace asked as Marco took another sip from his wine glass.

“As long as I want to. I don’t sleep.”

“You don’t sleep?” He couldn’t keep his disbelief from spilling over.

“I don’t need to. I can, but it doesn’t make a difference for my body. Part of my strange genetic makeup as a mythical zoan, I suppose.” Ace swallowed, finding the idea of going without sleep to be disturbing in its own right. Marco continued, “I can drink myself into oblivion too, though maybe that’s not quite the correct phrase since I’ll never get drunk. That’s the beauty of being able to regenerate yourself; your liver never gets damaged and you never get sick.”

He laughed then, but Ace couldn’t help but notice how hollow the sound was.

“So…you can’t get drunk,” Ace said firmly. Marco nodded with a slight smile. “What about Whitebeard? Does he get drunk?”

Marco snorted. “Why do you want to know about my Pops, brat?”

Ace stiffened, an indignant blush spreading across his freckled cheeks. “I’m not a _brat_.” Marco expressed some amusement at that snappish reply. “Shut up… _old man_.”

Instantly, Marco’s face turned sour. Before Ace could properly react, Marco’s hand was around the back of his throat and his head was forced down on the table. Marco held him there, unmoving, and though Ace tried to use his Devil Fruit powers, Marco would not relent. Slowly, the older man took another sip of his wine, his victory painfully obvious.

“Let me up,” Ace barked, though his words were somewhat lost to the wood of the table. He moved his arms to the side of the table and tried to extract himself from Marco’s grip, but he wouldn’t budge. It was frustrating how strong Marco’s grasp on him was. It was like being trapped within the talons of a bird of prey.

“I don’t like being reminded of my age,” Marco said quietly. The grip he had on Ace’s throat tightened and Ace gasped for breath, wondering if Marco was going to bump him off right then and there and be done with his duties as a sea daddy.

“That’s another golden rule here on the Moby Dick. Don’t be making fun of the seniority of your nakama, because chances are good that they’ll be able to kick your ass with due experience.”

Marco fingers glided up his neck and into his hair, and faintly Ace realized Marco was stroking his head as if he were some obedient animal. Though it felt good, to be touched and almost massaged, he was indignant that Marco would dare to do this to him.

Was he really so weak that he couldn’t get out of the clutches of Whitebeard’s first mate?

After a bit of thoughtless petting, Marco let up on his grip and Ace shrunk away, immediately getting to his feet.

“Remember what I’m teaching you,” Marco said sternly as Ace headed for the door. Ace stormed over and yanked the wooden door nearly off its hinges, then turned back to regard Marco, who appeared unfazed by Ace’s smothering glare.

“Shut the fuck up, _old man_.”

Marco’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he did not give chase as Ace tore out of the room and down the hall. Instead, he watched the open door for a second, contemplating what to do with the presence that was just there.

“I suppose I’ll have to up the intensity of these lessons if he’s ever going to learn anything,” Marco mused, leisurely taking another sip of his wine.


	2. PART TWO

There were one hundred notches on the wall in his room, each one signifying a failed attempt at murder. Ace was past becoming frustrated; he was downright seething with anger. It was directed towards everyone: Whitebeard for being so damn invincible; Thatch for continually trying to befriend him; Izou for bringing him food and being kind to him; Jozu for inviting him to poker games with the crew; even himself for failing to succeed. He was angriest with himself for being such a failure to his friends and nakama who’d been captured. But now his friends were being coerced into becoming a part of Whitebeard’s crew. So he was angry with them too, for giving in so easily while he still fought with everything he had.

The only person he wasn’t angry at was Marco.

He couldn’t understand that. With everything that had happened, Marco was always there to rebuke him and toss him over the edge of the ship, if Whitebeard hadn’t already. But he was always the one to retrieve him too, whether using a life ring or sending him out with a rope tied around his ankle first. There was even the odd time where Marco would manually rescue him by flying out over the ocean only to dip down and seize him with his sharp talons. Sure it made him feel like a pathetic fish falling prey to an eagle, but at least he didn’t drown.

The fact that Marco was always there for him – whether for good or bad intentions – led Ace to see him as a pillar of regularity. Hell, perhaps he was even developing a bit of a liking for Marco.

No, that would be absurd. He did not like the enemy.

Still, Marco was…tolerable, and certainly no pushover like the people Ace despised. He’d give the man that much credit.

He left his room and headed above deck, the hand in his pocket clutching a small vial full of a substance he had found in the galley. It was an affluence that had been extracted from the belly of a poisonous fish, a toxic chemical that would claim the life of anyone, no matter how strong they were. He had grabbed the waste material that the chefs had slated to be thrown overboard and hid it in his shorts, ready for its use in his latest plot.

It was genius, his plan, and when he reached the barrel of sake sitting outside Whitebeard’s chambers, waiting for the morning to come, he uncorked the vial. Next he seized the cork on top of the barrel and tore it out, and just as he was getting ready to drop the liquid into the alcohol, he felt arms encircle his waist, snatching him away from his task.

He snarled as the bottle dropped out of his hands and rolled away, hearing the minute plop as it fell over the side of the ship.

“Fuck, would you stop doing that?! I was _so_ fucking close this time!”

The deep chuckle, resonating in his ear as Marco laid his chin on his shoulder, sent shivers down his neck to his feet. He slumped against Marco’s broad chest, knowing that if he were less tense, being tossed into the ocean wouldn’t be so painful.

He was surprised when Marco didn’t toss him right away, or move to tie a rope around his ankle, or find an inner tub and stuff him face first into it. It was very strange that Marco wasn’t acting as he usually was.

“You know, you told me not to treat you like a child at the beginning of this, but I can’t help but feel that a few spanks on your bottom would much improve your character.”

Ace growled, “Touch me there and I’ll kill you.”

He could practically feel the smirk on Marco’s face as he leaned in to ghost his mouth over the skin on Ace’s neck. No one had ever been this close to him, but Marco was forcibly breaking many of Ace’s boundaries over the past two months.

“After a hundred and one murder attempts gone wrong, that threat fell a bit flat. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ace tried to retort, but he found that his mouth was covered by one of Marco’s calloused hands. Then he felt that curious sensation of being lifted into the air, and wondered if Marco was going to toss him into the ocean anyway, but then he saw the blue flames jutting out in front of him, obscuring his vision of the world.

Marco let go of him for a brief instant, but it wasn’t enough time for Ace to get away. Talons found his shoulders again and he was lifted up and over the gunwale so he hung precariously over the surf. Marco flew along the length of the ship, making it clear that Ace wasn’t going anywhere by flying only over the deathly black waves of the ocean, never the safety of the deck. They careened on the wind until they were around the back of the ship, then the mythical zoan descended sharply, slamming Ace into the balcony as he landed. Marco pinned Ace with his body in a heap, transformed, and then hurried to gather Ace over his shoulder before the other could rear up for an attack.

Ace tried his best to thrash about, but the shock of it all made his muscles weak. They quivered as Marco brought him the short distance from the balcony to his personal quarters. Ace barely heard the lock on the door click into place as he was thrown onto Marco’s bed so roughly that he lost his breath. Immediately, he tried to rise, or at the very least work up a flame to protect himself, but Marco’s hands had found both of his wrists and he’d worked a knee into his back to pin him down.

“I’m rightfully appalled that my kind lessons aren’t reaching you,” Marco whispered, stooping so that his whiskered chin raked over the sensitive skin on Ace’s shoulder. Ace tried to yank his arms free, resulting in Marco tugging back which drove his knee deep into the area between Ace’s shoulder blades. Ace yelped into the pillow his head had landed on, yielding as he realized how futile it was to fight in this position.

“You’ve left me with no choice. As your sea daddy I have to punish you like the naughty child you are.”

Ace growled, kicking his legs upwards in hopes of unseating Marco from his perch. No such luck. Marco twisted his arms and put both wrists together, freeing up fingers that went straight to Ace’s scalp, pushing his head firmly into the pillow to snuff his verbal protests.

Ace felt a stinging shame as he grasped the fact that Marco was more or less holding him down with one hand. He felt weak under this man. Pathetic.

He began to relax his muscles, hoping that Marco would think he was accepting defeat. It worked, as Marco’s hold on his hands slackened and the hand on his head went elsewhere. He didn’t dare lift his head, knowing that if he made any more sudden movements, they could be his last.

He wondered if Marco would kill him on his bed, or take him somewhere that wouldn’t be quite as messy. As he waited for his opportune moment for escape so he could fight on even grounds, the cold, hard surface of something unseen locked down on his hands, spreading frostiness throughout his body. It was a chill like the ocean grabbing him and submerging him in darkness.

He swung his head wildly, Marco’s hand appearing once more on his head, shoving him down so one cheek pressed against the mattress. He could see, out of his peripheral, Marco’s slight smile, devious in nature.

“Time to see if you’ll learn with a bit of force exerted on my part.”

As Ace puzzled over Marco’s gruff words, he became aware of the ice in his body as it lodged deep in his gut. Twisting around again, Marco letting him have his head, he saw something he didn’t quite know what to do with. Handcuffs. Sea stone handcuffs.

His stomach sank. He had seen the marines use the contraption on Devil Fruit users, bringing them to their knees. This he had seen from a distance. Up close and personal, he now knew why the Devil Fruit users he encountered were so afraid of them.

He couldn’t feel a part of himself. It was as if his soul had been shredded to bits and pieces and thrown overboard to be lost forever. Floating on the ocean, those bits and pieces of him, he felt as though they’d never be returned to their proper places.

“W-what are–”

“Hush,” Marco barked, digging his knee into Ace’s back and making him hiss with pain. “Hush,” he repeated, a whisper this time. Almost like a caress after a firm rebuttal. Ace felt heat rising to his face, but it was none of his usual fire. That was gone. All that remained was Marco’s heat. Superior to his in every way with those cuffs on his wrists.

“I see you know what these are.” Marco jingled the chain that held each cuff together against Ace’s back. “I’ve never had to use them. Then again, I’ve never had to deal with an unruly logia type either. When I give punishment, I like to make sure it is received in full. You will feel _everything_.” The stubble on Marco’s chin as he leaned down once again brushed Ace’s shoulder, sending a shiver across his bare back. “And I hope you’ll learn your lesson after this.”

Ace found his voice as Marco began to get up off of him. “What’re you going to do, old man?” he shouted, earning himself another mouthful of pillow.

“I’ve already told you that. Pay attention when people are talking to you. There’s another lesson you should learn, _brat_.”

Ace thrashed as Marco wrapped an arm around his abdomen, lifting him from the bed like he was a speck of loose dust and nothing more. No matter where he struck Marco with his feet – on the leg, on the arm, or even full across his back – he didn’t leave a mark. The blue flames that appeared to regenerate the damaged bruises on Marco’s skin taunted him, yet he found himself impressed by them. No, by Marco.

The man was indestructible.

It was frightening how little he could do as Marco sat down in a chair beside the table they had shared drinks over a scant few weeks ago and threw him over his lap. He positioned him as Ace struggled to break free, grabbing his buttocks to steady and manipulate him. Ace froze when he felt those solid fingers drive deep into his flesh, having never had anyone _dare_ to grab him there. After he got over his initial distress, he worked harder to get himself out of Marco’s clutches, beginning to grunt as he strained with the effort.

A hand coming down sharply upon his wriggling buttocks ripped a whimper of surprise from his throat. Marco’s smooth voice, with a hint of satisfaction in his tone, filtered down through the tense air into Ace’s ears.

“In addition to my role as first mate, I also like to think of myself as something of a bo'sun. Before I joined Whitebeard, after the wreck of the last ship I was on, I _was_ a bo'sun, in charge of keeping the crew in line. And this was no pirate ship you’d ever want to be on. Lashings right and left, front and centre, all over the body for so much as stepping a foot out of place. I rose to the top to avoid them. Whitebeard’s crew was a welcome change from such unnecessary cruelty. And I’ll make sure you know your luck by the time I’m finished with you.”

Marco’s speech echoed in Ace’s ears like a bad rhyme or song that could not be shaken. He gulped, remembering faintly how Marco had told him not to make fun of the older people on the ship as many of them were remnants of the last Great Pirate Age. And Ace knew that back then there were far more ships with tyrannical captains than notches on his wall of failed murder attempts.

Ace could only swallow thickly as he felt Marco’s fingers dance across the fabric of his shorts, reaching the waistband. Those fingers delved under the fabric, gliding along smooth skin as they tugged his shorts away. The cold air hit his flesh and he bit his lip, trying not to cry out.

He didn’t want to anger Marco any more than he had already.

He knew what was coming. Marco had already told him. Marco had even given him a taste of it.

As his shorts slid down his legs and off his ankles, Ace became acutely aware of how he hung limply between Marco’s clothed thighs. He was totally exposed, his naked butt shuddering under Marco’s steady gaze, his length swaying in the slight space between the abrasive fabric of Marco’s pants.

“ _Please_ _don’t_!”

With that cry, Marco brought down his flattened hand upon him, spanking him gently. Though there wasn’t much of a sting, Ace bit down on his tongue and tried unsuccessfully to get loose by shaking his cuffed hands. But Marco’s left hand had him pinned. He couldn’t do much more than wiggle in place and whimper as Marco struck him again, first on his right cheek and then his left, harder this time.

It left red marks on him. Still far from the hue Marco desired. He spanked him harder again to gauge the change in pink, then in a series, smiling slightly as Ace writhed against him, helpless to fight back. He continued to deliver harsher strikes upon Ace, watching the skin turn colour and begin periodically twitching. Then he noticed, with a slight pause in his actions, how Ace had begun shaking uncontrollably. His entire body quivered as if he were experiencing extreme stress on his body.

“I think you are shaking more from the humiliation than the pain,” he said softly.

Ace was struggling to keep his moans and whimpers quiet and unheard, biting his lip and the insides of his cheeks whenever the urge arouse.

“ _Please just stop_ ,” Ace whispered to the floor, ashamed. Partly because he couldn’t imagine that another man had gotten the best of him, and partly because he could feel himself stirring between Marco’s legs, which was strange in itself.

A hint of anger coursed through Marco, reminding him of his harsh upbringing aboard _that_ ship before the Moby Dick. “Don’t ask to be exempted from something you deserve, brat,” Marco scolded, punishing him severely for his words. Ace cried out, unabashed, feeling the sting of Marco’s rough hand on him long after he’d withdrawn it.

Marco looked down at the damage he’d wrought. It was a pretty red, one that doubtlessly matched the blush of embarrassment Ace would be wearing when next he turned that face around for inspection. He had to reminded himself that he was no longer the punisher he had been once, years ago, and that it wouldn’t do to cause lasting damage on the young charge his Pops had left in his care.

He decided he was finished for the night, and shifted his hold on Ace so that it was his right hand that held him fastened to his lap while his left went around to Ace’s neck. He grasped under Ace’s jaw, pulling his chin up so he could see those coal black eyes staring up at him from underneath a mess of black locks. Those eyes darted about his face, appalled, yet still defiant.

Ace wouldn’t break easily. But Marco had anticipated that wilful nature of his.

Before Ace could get any ideas of his own, Marco stood of his own accord, sending Ace rolling off of him and to the floor. Ace yelped as his tense body made contact with the unrelenting wooden planks, but he quickly took control of this apparent freedom, staggering to his feet despite the handcuffs binding his wrists.

As Ace panted, standing before Marco completely nude, he blushed as the older man’s eyes trailed downwards leisurely, taking in the sight of him half-erect and trembling.

“Turn around and I’ll take off your cuffs,” Marco commanded, raising his eyes slowly and making it no secret that he knew precisely how aroused Ace was by smiling shrewdly. Ace shuddered and obeyed, only to get out of Marco’s keen sight. He drew in a sharp breath as the older man unlocked the cuffs, pulling a key out of nowhere. When he had removed the sea stone, Ace attempted to spin around and try his luck at striking Marco with an enflamed hand, but found he was held in an iron grip where the cuffs had once been.

Marco pressed up against his back. “Get back to your room without any more fuss. You know what I can do now, and I’ll do it as many times as necessary to prove my point.”

Ace swallowed as Marco released him, and didn’t dare to look over his shoulder, his eyes instead straying to the door. He didn’t even look as Marco prodded him in the back towards that door, but his erection bobbing in front of him, catching a chill, reminded him of his current state of undress.

“B-but my shorts!”

“I’ll return them in the morning. Perhaps. Depends how well you behave when I come to return them. Now get going. And remember to be a good boy.“

Fighting Marco was fruitless. Ace tore out of the room without testing Marco’s threats, stealing across the Moby Dick and praying the entire time he ran to his room at the bow of the massive vessel that nobody would illuminate the darkness and see him.

When he got back to his room, breathless and a bright red all over from the frigid night air, he lit a candle for the comfort of a small flame and crawled onto his bunk, spent from trying to keep his emotions in check around Marco. He lay there thinking of nothing but the warm throbbing of his buttocks and how, now that the ordeal was over, that pain had somehow transformed into an irrefutable pleasure.


	3. PART THREE

Ace didn’t come out of his room for several days, relying on Commander Izou’s kindness in bringing him food and drink to survive. Marco had returned his shorts, but it was through the space under his door that he had kicked them rather than making Ace suffer an eye-to-eye confrontation. Ace was infinitely glad. He wasn’t ready to stand in front of Marco and look him in the eyes again.

That night he had taken care of the erection between his legs, and was shocked by how violently he’d come. It had exhausted him into a stupor, and he’d promptly fallen asleep naked on his bed. In the morning he was disgusted with himself for allowing such pleasure in the face of pain, but it had felt so necessary at the time that he didn’t allow himself that bit of regret. Besides, what was done had been done.

He hadn’t made an attempt on Whitebeard for days. Those that visited his room, never coming through the doorway but rather speaking to him from the other side of the wood, joked about him plotting his grandest scheme yet.

But Ace hadn’t spent a second planning anything. Every moment of free thought went towards the stern of the ship, right into his sea daddy’s room. He found himself thinking about the roughness of Marco’s hands as he dealt with him, feeling a warm tingling between his legs that culminated in a twitch of his cock.

He was horrified. Horrified that Marco had made such an impression on him. Horrified that he was starting to wonder what it would feel like to be bent over Marco’s knee again. If it would feel the same, or if Marco would make the second experience more intense than the first.

He pondered this for another day, and when night fell he hadn’t decided on a clear-cut course of action. He had a knife blade in his hand that he’d kept after Izou delivered a plate of meat, and he turned it over in his palm as he considered going back to his old ways. Whitebeard’s head, of which he had heard much laughter from in the past few days of his self-confinement, beckoned him out into the night air.

He left his room, heading for the ship’s stern. He took a slight detour this time, staring down the empty hall that housed the commanders. Everything seemed silent, and he could hear a multitude of snores coming from the occupants of the room. Then he remembered with a shiver that Marco had expressed an aversion to sleep, but he wouldn’t dwell on something that had to be a lie fabricated to scare him.

Arriving outside of Whitebeard’s door, Ace assessed the surrounding area. Nothing stirred. There was no way he’d allow anyone to sneak up on him. Not even Marco the Phoenix.

He kept an eye on his backside as he palmed the large oak door to the captain’s chamber. Still nothing stirred on deck, or in the air. Perhaps Marco was not patrolling tonight. Perhaps he had finally let his guard down with Ace’s inactivity for the past few days.

Ace smirked in triumph and pushed open the door, letting it creak open of its own accord. He was still half-turned around, expecting Marco to come from the air behind him, when he heard a noise. Idly he flicked his eyes forward into the darkness of Whitebeard’s quarters, and with a jolt found two amused eyes staring him down, the figure shrouded in shadows.

Whitebeard!

No.

 _Marco_.

He couldn’t avoid anything as Marco lunged for him, grabbing both his arms in one fluid movement. He dropped the knife in shock, and heard it kicked away by Marco’s foot into the vast ocean before that same foot deftly closed Whitebeard’s door behind them.

“You should understand by now that I can attack from anywhere.”

Ace grit his teeth as Marco made off with him in his phoenix form, annoyed that he’d been thwarted again but at the same time utterly joyous that Marco was taking him back to his bedchamber once more. He couldn’t even deny how excited he’d become, even though a part of him was screeching about how low he had fallen. The conflicting emotions were fighting inside his stomach like two hyenas over a scrap of meat. It was maddening.

When they arrived, Ace had hardly put up a fight, and was soon stretched across Marco’s lap, naked and anticipating what was to come.

This time, Marco delivered harsher blows than before, brought on by his own annoyance that Ace hadn’t learned from their past encounter. He knew the boy was far from stupid. There was an ulterior motive, and when Ace stood before him after a sound spanking, quivering and sporting a reddish-purple erection, Marco figured out just what his motivation was. In fact, it was pointing straight up at him.

“Give me back my shorts,” Ace said quietly, his eyes aflame in the same manner as his cheeks. He stood there wearing nothing but handcuffs. His broad chest flexed only faintly as he panted lightly, but in the silence that followed his panting sounded harsh and exhausting.

“You don’t really want them back, do you? You want me to keep them. You’d sooner want me to gag you with them while I spanked you.”

Ace gulped, noticing the dark gleam in Marco’s eyes that spoke of his tendency to swoop in and take Ace’s feet out from under him. Regardless, Ace tried to remain defiant in the face of adversary. “No. Give them back.”

Marco took a long swig of a flask of rum he’d grabbed off his shelf shortly after dealing out Ace’s punishment. He clenched the fabric of the shorts in question, then threw them over his shoulder, daring Ace to move past him so he was deeper in the chamber, deeper in Marco’s nest where he devoured his prey whole.

Ace’s eyes followed the sailing garments and he bit his lip. While he had found himself aroused and entranced by the ease of which Marco held him down and beat him, the part where he left with nothing on his butt to cover his embarrassment was not in any way enjoyable. He wanted to grab those shorts off the floor, he really did. But he knew Marco wouldn’t let him have them so easily.

He was right.

“Get down on your knees,” Marco suddenly barked, fluidly moving to his feet. He was swooping in, making his next move, and Ace froze up completely. The handcuffs that Marco had yet to remove suddenly became a real problem, digging into his wrists as he struggled vainly to free himself. “Come on. I just want to show you something you might find interesting.”

His voice turning soft, gentle, almost kind, egged Ace on. He gave in to his curiosity.

He stooped low, then finally let himself drop to his knees as Marco had instructed. He felt like a beggar with hands tied behind his back, or a child because of the height difference, or a prostitute who was a martyr to pain because of his desire for Marco to teach him something new. Yes, he certainly was eager to learn from his daddy.

Marco stopped just shy of him, Ace’s head thrown all the way back to be able to hold his gaze. A hand came out, rushing through his hair, swiping at it. His fingers brushed roughly along his scalp, rubbing just often enough to make it pleasurable. Ace began to let his eyes drift closed, focussing on the feeling of being petted even though it was a stab at his pride as a man. He couldn’t escape, and it felt… _nice_ to simply just accept what was.

Just as the last of his vision disappeared and he began to feel as though he could doze off despite the awkward position, those fingers clamped down and his eyes opened with surprise.

Marco grabbed a fist full of hair, yanking Ace’s head back as he stared down without any trace of emotion on his face. In Ace’s eyes swam pain and distrust. He loosened his grip, but still guided Ace to where he wanted him to be.

He pushed Ace’s face straight into his crotch, keeping his grip firm as Ace tried to fight him.

“Rub your face against it.”

Ace gritted his teeth as he found he couldn’t retract his head, and did as he was told. He didn’t think his buttocks could take another round of harsh spanks. He had come for the exploration of a second round, but now he was unsure that he’d made a wise decision at all, to play with unfamiliar fire.

He rubbed his cheek against the rough fabric of Marco’s breeches, feeling the coarse material cut into his face. Marco was warm underneath his clothing and, as Ace soon realized, incredibly active.

“Feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” Ace said into the cloth. He could smell as well as feel Marco’s desire. The musk flooded his nostrils and made his balls twitch. He squeezed his legs together, hoping that it would provide some form of relief. It didn’t. If anything, it made the ache worse down there.

“Do you want to please me?”

Ace thought long and hard about that question. His instincts were screaming at him to escape before this escalated into something he couldn’t handle. His burning length was begging for a touch, any touch, and staying with Marco for a little longer could warrant that one touch. Besides, he reasoned with himself, if he refused, chances were good that Marco would punish him worse than if he’d complied. So it would be stupid to refuse.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Marco asked, feigning innocence. The fingers danced in his hair, easing Ace into believing that Marco wasn’t so cruel as he made himself out to be at times. It certainly helped him to make up his mind.

“Yes, I want to suck on you.”

“Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll let you.”

Ace swallowed his pride, licked his lips, and tried to get Marco to stop teasing him. “Please let me suck you. I really want to suck you.” And he did. The shameful thoughts that he’d suppressed before, that he’d thought about night and day enclosed within the walls of his prison, rose up against his rational. He certainly did want to try.

“No.”

Ace groaned; this was not supposed to be Marco’s answer! He flared up and lost it. “What? W-why won’t you let me–”

Marco’s fingers had dipped from the top of his head to below his jaw. They tightened around his neck, Marco tossing him away with just enough force to send him sprawled on the floor, and he received a new order. “Don’t whine about it, brat. Get up.”

He suddenly didn’t want to give any sort of satisfaction or relief to Marco. He scrambled to his feet and turned away in an attempt to hide himself, exposing his back and the red marks that marred his ass. He stretched the chain between the handcuffs as far as it would go, indicating his yearning to end this torture for the night.

“Exposing your back to me? Now that’s brave…and foolish.”

With one hand Marco slammed Ace’s body into the wall, with the other he reached down and gave a sharp pinch to his right cheek, one that made Ace jump up the wall. Then he slid against Ace’s frame, the stubble on his chin scratching flesh on his neck once again.

“You know what I can do from this position?” Ace whimpered at the implications, knowing full well what could be done. “I could have my way with you. A nice, boyish little ass…haven’t had one of those in a while. Would you like to end my suffering and give yourself to me, Ace?”

“No,” Ace hissed. “I won’t.” But he could feel his ears burning with the lie, and he knew Marco would call him on it.

“You will. Some day soon you’ll come begging me for it. Just like you begged for me tonight.”

Ace’s eyes widened and he gulped down a touch of bile that the nerves brought on. He couldn’t make himself say more, couldn’t make himself tell the man grinding gently into his bare thighs with his hardened length that he would never give himself to the enemy.

Faintly, over his panicking, he felt the cuffs slip off and heard a metallic _clunk_ as they dropped to the floor. But Marco’s rough hands were still on him, holding his wrists. Those hands that he found himself so enamoured with.

A part of him, a really loud, primitive part of him, wanted those hands all over his body.

He grunted as Marco marched him over to his door, threw it open with a hand he momentarily freed from duty, and sent him flying through the air until he landed on the opposite side of the hall, bright red butt sticking straight up in the air.

Ace scrambled into a defensive crouch, but Marco had already closed the door on him, and idly the urge to torch the entire hallway flitted through his veins. However, he wouldn’t dare. His sea daddy would utterly annihilate him if he so much as let out a spark on Whitebeard’s beloved ship. He had learned that lesson at least.

He stole across the Moby Dick, locked himself in his chamber, and relieved himself from the stress Marco had inflicted upon him. Just like the last time he came back to his room naked and erect, his ensuing orgasm was something that he could never have given himself alone. It frustrated him to no end to know his body had given in to the control of another.

Yet the pleasure was addicting. But unhealthy addictions, Ace knew, could prove fatal.


	4. PART FOUR

He gave up hiding in his room after two days, which was much shorter than the last time Marco had banished him with fear. He was out on the deck now, forehead against his kneecaps, listening idly to a party going on farther down the deck. A few of his former crewmembers had asked him to join in and had offered him drinks, but Ace had refused them all. He didn’t feel up to celebrating and joining everyone.

He didn’t really feel like he _could_ join.

He heard the light scratching of sandals on wood and immediately tensed, raising his head to stare up at the man who touched him in ways nobody had ever wanted to before. He glared; Marco stared back just as evenly, holding a steaming bowl of what smelled to Ace like delicious soup. His mouth watered and he eyed the bowl hungrily. Several times Marco had placed beside him something to eat before promptly walking away. He hoped that this would be one of those times.

Marco crouched to place the bowl before him, but didn’t rise as Ace had hoped. Rather he stayed low and fixed him with a hard stare that left him questioning, again, how it could be possible to belong on such a magnificent ship like the Moby Dick, weak as he was compared to the rest of the crew.

“You should be trying to have a bit of fun, Firefist,” Marco said suddenly. Images of being bent over his lap flooded Ace’s mind and he blushed before putting his head back in his hands. “Or are you too busy plotting your next attempt on Pops’ life? You can’t take his head you know.”

“I _will_ take his head,” Ace spat, raising his eyes to Marco’s. “I _will_ take it and stick it on the goddamn _flagpole_.”

“Where pieces of your shorts were hanging?”

“Shut up, _old man_ ,” Ace snarled. Secretly, a thrill shot through him. If he provoked Marco exceedingly, would he punish him during the day? Would he seek him out at night, even if he never went above deck to wreak havoc?

But Marco didn’t appear angered by Ace’s remark. Rather, his expression showed concern, the very concern Ace had seen on Thatch’s face when he was first assigned a sea daddy.

“You can’t continue like this. It’s an impossible feat to achieve. There’s no shame in forgoing these schemes of yours.”

Shame. That was something Ace had been doing a lot of thinking about lately.

“You can join us and wear the mark of the Whitebeard pirates on your back.”

“I can’t join.”

Marco quirked an eyebrow. “Why not? Is it because then I’d treat you like a brother rather than a sea daddy?”

“I…” Ace lost his words, his ears turning pink. “… _No._ It’s disgusting and shameful.”

“There’s no shame in wanting something like that.”

“There is shame,” Ace hissed. “There’s a whole lot of shame! I can’t, I just, _ugh_ , I just don’t know–”

“You don’t know? That’s why I’m here. To teach you what you don’t know.”

And with that Marco got up, tenderly patted him on the head, and left him to his lonesome.

\--oOo--

Walking down the commander’s corridor by himself was unnerving, but he pressed on until he reached the end of the hall. He didn’t think Marco would be in his quarters anyway.

He was wrong. The door opened before he got a chance to raise his fist and knock on the wood.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Marco whispered. “What took you so long to decide?”

Ace nearly turned and bolted at such an assertion, but Marco’s hand was on his shoulder and a warm feeling flooded his chest as he smelt what had to be Marco’s unique musk in the air. He breathed deeply, taking it all in, and allowed himself to be led inside. The door closed behind him and Marco clicked the lock.

“How could you know I was going to come?”

“Saw it in your eyes. You want to please me, don’t you?”

Ace’s face burned. “I-I do not! I-I just came because I-I, well–”

“Then you won’t drop to your knees in front of me? You won’t receive my spankings? You won’t let me take your virgin asshole?” He wore a devious smile that told of his uncanny sense of humour. He wasn’t mocking, but all the same Ace felt himself challenged.

Ace grit his teeth and dropped his eyes to the floor. His heart beat madly and he feared that his predator could hear it pulsating. But Marco didn’t move, only continued talking. Though this time the smile dropped right off his face. “You’re ashamed of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I fucking hate myself.”

“I hate myself some days too, but that doesn’t stop me from taking pleasure where I can find it.”

Ace glanced up just long enough to see the understanding in Marco’s eyes.

“After a while, it doesn’t matter. You just have to keep living and find yourself something that makes you feel alive. Have you ever tried to turn your shame into something else?”

“I haven’t…no.”

Marco clucked and shook his head. “That’s not true. You have. Why do you think you came to me several times now? It’s because you wanted to turn shame into pleasure.”

Ace blushed again as he thought of Marco’s hands and how they stung him but made him feel so alive. He liked the attention Marco gave him when they were alone; it made him feel so… _wanted_. Special, even.

Marco took a few steps forwards and closed the gap between them. He brought his hands up and pressed his palms into Ace’s freckled cheeks, feeling the warmth of Ace’s skin and the fire that burned fiercely just beneath the surface, barely suppressed. Slowly he tilted his head and brought his lips down, gently brushing them up against lips that parted and gasped. Then he pulled back and let his hands drop to his sides.

The gesture was fleeting. Ace couldn’t even close his mouth while he was so aflame with emotions. He wanted to feel those lips on his again, harder next time, maybe invite Marco’s tongue into play. Or teeth.

“Will you drop to your knees for me?” Marco whispered with a sort of half smile that Ace had seen on him only when in the company of his fellow crewmembers. A smile that whispered to him, _You do belong, you know._

Ace held his gaze as he dropped down, his hands coming out to brush over the expansive set of abdominal muscles in front of him. He brushed Marco’s tattoo, traced it with his eyes next, and felt he really wanted that mark of absolute _belonging_ for himself. Marco had hinted that he had the answers to questions that Ace sought after, and Ace knew those answers were likely hidden in that mark on his chest.

He swallowed as his knees touched the wooden planks and his fingers stopped on the sash around Marco’s waist. He didn’t know if he should move it aside, or wait for some sort of instruction to do so. He didn’t know what kind of a game Marco would make him play now.

With a soft chuckle at Ace’s doe eyes staring up at him expectantly, Marco dragged his fingers through Ace’s hair. Those eyes glazed over, and he continued to pet away. Eventually he removed his sash and pried away Ace’s fingers, and they came easily after petting Ace into a subdued lethargy. He wished to reassure Ace that not all he did was cruel and harsh, and wished to do that right away so that the tension building in Ace’s shoulders would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Stand up, and go over to the bed. I want you to lie down on it, but first you must remove your clothes. I won’t bind you this time. I know you like mostly everything but being bound. I only did that for your safety, and that of the Moby Dick’s.”

Ace gave a cautious nod and stood, quickly undressed, and lay back on Marco’s bed. The last time he remembered being there he had been in such pain, and he couldn’t help but tremble and wonder if Marco would teach him roughly this time, too.

Marco dropped his breeches as well, making sure to go about removing his undergarments leisurely so Ace could get a long look at him when he was finally uncased. He could see Ace’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, taking in the meaty length that swung between Marco’s legs when he walked forward, halting just short of the bed.

Already Ace was half-erect. Only this time, unlike other times before, his hands were free to reach down and caress himself, if he so wished.

“I know you have a curiosity for me. You have my permission to explore, if that’s what you want.”

Again Ace swallowed and flipped on his side, drawing close to Marco’s flaccid length. He reached out, hesitantly, and touched the heavy rolls of foreskin, then wrapped his fingers completely around, afraid to be too firm. It was the first time he had ever touched another man before, and he instantly felt connected to Marco in ways he’d never experienced with anyone else. His heart began to pound against his ribcage with that realization.

Marco let him lift and weigh him in his hands, giving him free reign to do as he pleased. He knew Ace was both deathly afraid and incredibly aroused, his hardening length being the deciding factor. He let Ace fondle his balls and press his lips to his rolls of foreskin, gasping as he stiffened and the head of his cock exposed itself. With trembling lips, Ace delicately kissed that too. Then he drew back, red in the face.

“I’m not sure what you want me to…”

“I will teach you,” Marco said, moving his hands to Ace’s cheeks. He ran a thumb along Ace’s parted lips and gently widened his mouth, then angled his hips forward so that the head of his cock flowed through them. Ace received him with a tongue that flicked against the bottom of his mushroomed head, and as Marco gripped his hair, he began to lick him in earnest. He found he enjoyed the texture, and liked to trace those prominent veins on the underside of his shaft with the tip of his tongue.

But Marco had resolved to teach him, and Ace found that Marco no longer sat still placidly. Now he gripped Ace’s black locks and pulled him towards his crotch so that, inch by inch, Ace took more of him in. Just as Ace began to whimper and gag, Marco retracted himself, and the process began anew. He forced himself down until Ace gagged, again and again, until Ace noticed that he was getting closer and closer to the curled pubic hairs of Marco’s crotch.

Marco gave him little time to breath, and his pace increased with each thrust. Ace found his nose buried in blonde curls, and only then did Marco offer some form of verbal advice.

“When I draw back, take your breath through your nose. Straighten your neck. And as I come down into you, exhale. It will loosen your throat.”

Ace tried his hardest to listen to Marco’s instructions, and eventually he caught on to the correct breathing pattern, and only then did Marco intensify his thrusts once more, plunging deeper and deeper until Ace’s throat felt like it was on fire. It could very well have been, but he doubted Marco cared with his regenerative abilities.

He seldom gagged now, and Marco was slipping down his throat. He realized he was drooling all over, but Marco didn’t seem to mind. In fact, _he_ didn’t even care how much of a mess he was. His own cock was twitching and spasming, and he didn’t touch it once before it erupted. As Ace spilt his seed over the side of the bed and onto the floor, Marco thrust one final time and came in his mouth, holding Ace there so he choked and lost a bit of oxygen, succumbing both to the light asphyxiation and his own mounting pleasure.

His world went dark for a few moments, and when he awoke Marco had him on his back on the bed, and was straddling him. He blinked a few times, and found that he hadn’t been out for very long when Marco’s cock brushed the inside of his thigh, still glistening with his saliva.

He groaned. An incredible urge to spread his legs and let Marco take him washed over his body. He knew he couldn’t resist that urge, and he only hoped Marco would understand enough to allow him the satisfaction of being taken.

“Please fuck me.”

“Are you sure? I won’t be gentle.”

Ace gave him a crooked smile. The first shy, genuine smile he’d given anyone in a long time. “You never have been. And I don’t want you to be.”

Marco leaned down to smash his lips against Ace’s, thrusting a wet tongue into his mouth that was warmly received. For a moment Marco dominated him, making sure that Ace never got a second to breath, and when he finally drew back, Ace was panting vigorously. Marco took advantage of that sudden bout of exhaustion and flipped Ace over on the bed so he lay face down. Immediately he dug his hands under Ace’s thighs and lifted his buttocks, so pale and unmarred, into the air.

He brought his palm down upon that unblemished skin, and began to administer a sound spanking. Ace gripped the bed sheets as Marco worked him over, never giving him a rest from the pain and always alternating between hands, making sure the hits were fresh. Ace felt tears roll down his cheeks, not because of the pain but because of some other emotion long dormant within him. He found that he liked being so thoroughly used. It was intoxicating to be Marco’s toy, to have all of his devotion.

Suddenly the pain stopped, and in its place a new pain ignited not unlike the last one. Marco had jabbed two fingers into him up to his knuckles, and was stretching him forcibly. In the haze of being so lightheaded, Ace thought that maybe Marco had spanked him to lessen this new pain. It was certainly not as bad as he had imagined it would be. After a while, he only felt a calming heat and that strange, pleasurable tingle on his buttocks as the light welting settled in. He felt like he was glowing red, an ember just waiting for the wind to give it a breath of life. A wing beat would do.

“Are you ready for me?” Marco asked, withdrawing his fingers. Instantly, Ace felt the loss, and he squeezed his sphincter muscles together, wishing to grip something concrete. Something real.

“I’m ready, yeah. Do it. _Please_.”

He sounded so feeble, so pitiful, but at that moment he didn’t care – he just wanted Marco to show him how it was possible to get pleasure from such a shameful act. He wanted something, for once in his life, and Marco was willing to give it to him.

With a grunt, Marco eased himself inside, spreading Ace’s backside wide and his asshole even wider. Ace let his face fall into the pillow as he groaned loudly, unable to hide a thing from Marco. Not that he wanted to anymore. He had nothing to hide anyway. Marco had taken every private thing from him until there was nothing left to be embarrassed of.

It was liberating. His whole life he had things to hide from other people. But Marco had destroyed that darker part of him and filled the void with something new, something refreshing. A lightness.

Marco continued to nose deeper until Ace could feel soft, curly hairs rubbing against his welted cheeks. He instantly relaxed, embracing that palpitating length, even as Marco’s weight fell on his back and his stubbly jaw brushed against his shoulder.

Then he felt it. A warm, wet tongue dancing around the shell of his ear. His whole body shuddered and his hips bucked instinctively, driving Marco even deeper than he already was. Ace moaned, fully aware of a dark chuckling in his ear. It sent spikes of heat down his neck and stomach, gathering in his groin.

One of Marco’s hands found its way to Ace’s cheek, and he tilted his head around to capture rosy, parted lips. Ace sealed himself to Marco for a long time, as long as he could without feeling too faint, sliding his tongue against his sea daddy’s. And, as they met for a second round, Marco began to move, thrusting shallowly in and out of him.

Ace felt the change. He embraced it.

And the thrusts became deeper and faster until his entire body shifted and he struggled to avoid being driven into the headboard of Marco’s bed. He braced himself against that hard surface and drove back at Marco, hearing satisfied grunts that served to heat his core. He loved knowing he could use his body to elicit such noises from the first division commander.

In that moment, Ace felt powerful. Then one of Marco’s hands, both of which had been holding him up, curled around beneath their bodies and stroked along the length of Ace’s stomach. It dipped lower, and lower still, brushing dark curls until settling at the base of his erection. Two fingers in a ‘V’ encircled him and Ace gasped as Marco took control of his desire, strengthening his need for release while at the same time ebbing away at it with just the faintest touch of pain. He writhed and reached down to grab at Marco’s hand, but the man swatted him away.

Ace heard a deep, throaty chuckle before he felt Marco’s teeth nipping at his neck, and a tongue sliding along his jaw, moving up to his ear. Every pant that came from Marco deafened Ace and it was all he could do to continue moving his hips, unwilling to let their impending climax subside. Marco clenched him further with his deft fingers, and as a result Ace’s entire body convulsed, sending Marco himself over the edge.

With a strangled moan he half smothered in Ace’s hair, Marco came, slamming Ace a few more times to squeeze out every last ounce of pleasure from his engorged cock. Ace squirmed in place as he felt his insides coated with Marco’s opaque essence, and his erection bobbed between the bed sheets and his stomach, begging to be given release. He would not be denied.

Before Marco could grow soft, before he could pull out, Ace thrust his hips back, and came with an all-consuming violence that left him gasping and clawing at the sheets. When he was finished and his vision not so white hot, with little flames dancing in front of his eyes, Ace fell into the wet puddle he’d created and struggled to breath, Marco allowing him that muted pleasure too.

As he came back to his senses, it registered that Marco was stroking his bare back softly and murmuring soothing words into his hair. He closed his eyes again. In his haze he couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but he found himself agreeing and Marco chuckling, which put a goofy smile on his face. But, above all, he was just happy that Marco’s fingers, running through his hair and all over his body, weren’t stopping to rest.

He fell asleep, drenched in sweat and other juices but sated, feeling truly safe for the first time since the early days of his childhood.

\--oOo--

“I want to belong here. I want to wear your mark.”

“Oh, so your sea daddy has finally struck a chord with you?” Whitebeard replied, chuckling loudly. The suggestion was innocent in nature, but seeing Marco’s half smile peeking out from the side of his captain made Ace blush. He hoped he could blame the sun’s passionate rays for his flushed cheeks.

“You could say that,” Ace answered softly. He remembered Marco’s words that morning, after he’d woken up to find that Marco had taken him into his arms, cradling him against his chest and stroking his mussed hair.

_“I hope you’ve learned the most important lesson I had to teach: that you do have a place on this ship,” Marco had said. “You might not think so Ace, but I know you belong here. With me. And if you’re afraid something might change between us when you become an official member, then you’re wrong, brat. It’s as simple as that.”_

Warmth again flooded Ace’s veins and he turned his face up to the sun and Whitebeard’s flag.

“I _do_ belong here,” he declared.


End file.
